Okay, what the actual fuck am I doing. Oh God. I slyly peek down my Victoria’s Secret lace thong for the eighth time in the past 10 minutes in the middle of 2nd ave to make sure my womanly juices are under control and no pubic hair suddenly erupted. I recall my preparation in hopes of reassuring myself: I shaved four times last night. I faced a mirror in every possible direction. I discovered parts of my anus that I didn’t even know existed. Is it supposed to look so…wrinkly? I used two different razors (I need the sharper one for the ass crack area, those angles are weird). I used four feminine wipes. I watched seven porn videos (seriously). I am ready for this. I walk up the four flights of stairs and knock on the door… to my threesome.
Maybe this would be an interesting, pseudo-common, tell-your-friends experience for someone who was actually experienced and was bored of regular sex. But if you recall, I am a virgin. So this doesn’t quite add up. But since my fucked up morals are tangled in every direction, my hypocritical resolution for sexual satisfaction is to find loopholes within these tangles. My most recent loophole is women. I can have sex with women, because in my mind it’s not biological sex in the reproductive sense. And yes I know this justification sucks, women to women sex is totally sex, and in no way am I trying to undermine that, but I’ve engineered my mind to accept this loophole without feeling guilty about it, so please let me be. And since my curiosity for women increased after watching The L Word and falling in love with Shane McCutcheon (look her up), I knew I needed to try something a little out of my ordinary.
So I did what every sexually curious 19-year-old does, I downloaded Bumble, and set my preferences to “women only.” A few dozen swipes later, and I see her. She’s totally cute, very sorority-girl like, and blonde with a beautiful smile. We match, and start flirting back and forth. She then drops the bomb that she has a boyfriend, and is looking for a third. I’m very honest with her, telling her that I’m not sure how much fun that would be since you know… I wouldn’t really be able to fuck him. But surprisingly, they were very accepting, and still wanted to continue. So a few days later, I meet them in their apartment. First thought: they are WAY cuter in person (I hate social media and its inaccurate portrayals). I’m offered a gin and tonic, and we start smoking some weed. Things are still a little awkward, since we’re kind of just acting like friends, not strangers who are about to lick each other’s insides very soon.
Now I’m normally the confrontational, more aggressive one in a hook up. So once I’m a little buzzed, I go up to the boyfriend, take his piece from his lap and set it across the table, and take off my dress. I swear to you — this was the start of a fucking porno. I’m not really sure what happened, but the minute I took off my dress, they assumed “MissGlitter09” and “BigDickLooking2Fuck” character roles so quickly. They were speaking in third person about my hourglass figure and my perfect, round tits. I start kissing the guy, and the girl immediately takes off my bra and my panties. They’re kissing me both… everywhere. It was all really, really fast. Body parts were everywhere, and I kept alternating between blow job, to eating her out (tastes more sour than I predicted), to them eating me out, to fingers in every hole, to nipple clamps, to bed straps, to blind folds, to floggers, to a fucking rim-job human centipede. We had the whole ordeal. Words alternated from being vulgar, to third-person, to “the guy that gets to fuck you is the luckiest guy in the world.”
Two hours later, I’m spent. I’m still in awe of what just happened. And I’m not really sure how to feel about it. On one hand, I feel alive, discovered and incredibly smug. But on the other hand, the pressure to moan at all the right times and the over-eagerness of the boyfriend took away from the genuineness of the experience, and a part of me felt like I was intruding on a special moment between the couple. Now, a few months later, I still think it’s a great drunk story, and it’s something most people wouldn’t expect. Ultimately, I learned a lot about what I like and what I don’t like, and I think that’s incredibly important. And who knows, maybe something like that will happen again, and maybe with just girls. To be honest, I’m not really sure how much friskier this virgin can get.
Pussy Galore is a student at Cornell. Comments may be sent to firstname.lastname@example.org. Guest Room appears periodically this semester.